The Nest
by Your Local Cow
Summary: Tim was the one that got him into this place, a 4.5 star restaurant known as The Nest, which worked for the billionaire playboy, Bruce Wayne. He got him money, and thus food and shelter. Honestly, if it weren't for him, he'd be out on the streets, and Dick couldn't see how he could survive a day, much less seven. AU.


**Disclaimer: **Your Local Cow doesn't own YJ or DC.

**Notes:** First complete-enough story to post on . First one I typed (not finished) was a disaster, and it never is going to make it on this website. Second one has too many holes; it's in progress. I do have a finished little thing though; it was for school but I'm not sure if it's worth putting it on here.

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**The Nest**

**Chapter One**

"Richard, bring this to table twelve please! I shouldn't be telling you this."

"Ah sorry, I was busy with the other orders!"

The ebony haired boy carefully balanced the three plates on his his right hand and started to head to table twelve.

"Someone get two cups of water to four!" a fellow waiter shouted out.

"I got it!" Dick called out. He pushed through the doors of the kitchen and grabbed two filled glasses with his left hand. He weaved in and out of other waiters and a couple of guests, much like the flow of an airbender, he mused.

He arrived at table four where he could see two couples chatting. "My apologies," he said and placed the cups down on the table.

"Why, I haven't seen you before. When did you start working here?" the lady asked politely. Judging by their ages, they're probably an old married couple.

"I'm fairly new, ma'am, I arrived a week ago," Dick replied. They were probably regulars too.

"Well you're just a boy; why are you working in a place like this?"

Before he could think of how to respond to the question, her husband came to the rescue. "Mariotte! I'm sorry, please excuse my wife for asking such a question."

"Oh no sir, I apologize for being any inconvenience to you. Enjoy your meal." Phew. He smiled, gave a curt bow and started to walk towards table twelve.

Even though it was nearing the end of fall, Dick felt that he was in a sauna. The butler suits they gave as uniforms for The Nest were tight and uncomfortable on him. They also didn't actually have suits (and shoes) his size, so they had to get it specially tailored and ordered. There goes a few weeks of paychecks out the door, but they were nice enough to give him cash instead.

At table twelve, he could see that there were four occupants. Another waiter just recently served a single plate to one of them.

"Your poached salmon fillet with watercress mayonnaise, niçoise toast, and chicken and white bean chili is ready," said Dick to no one in particular. He looked for signs for whose dish was whose, and set them in front of them. He gave a smile and said "Enjoy your evening." He bowed and sped away to the kitchen for more dishes to serve.

"Dick, you can show the guests to their seats now; I got this covered," Tim said as he entered the kitchen. He was also wearing the suit like every other "butler". He had black hair and blue eyes like Dick, but instead of being a shortie at 13, he was an average at 17. He wasn't an average teenager of course.

Tim was the one that got him into this place, a 4.5 star restaurant known as The Nest, which worked for the billionaire playboy, Bruce Wayne. He got him money, and thus food and shelter. Honestly, if it weren't for him, he'd be out on the streets, and Dick couldn't see how he could survive a day, much less seven. Tim must be close friends with the owner, because he got him in without needing a resumé or anything of the sort.

The cerulean-eyed boy nodded and gave an "okay" and turned around to walk to the awaiting cust—I mean guests (they don't actually call them that) until Tim ruffled his hair. He gave Tim a frown and quickly fixed his hair to the original messy mop it was.

"If you're touching food, make sure you wash your hands." It's funny hearing that come from himself.

The older chuckled. "I know, I know; now go out there and show the guests to their tables. And take their orders while you're at it!"

Dick nodded again and left the kitchen. On his way he passed the stage where the musicians were playing some jazz, and lead a group of guests to a free table known as table 16. He pulled out the chairs for the ladies, dropped off menus and the appetizers, and gave a bow when he left. He continued for the other guests since they were undecided on what to eat.

He returned to table 16 when he was signaled and whipped out his very own restaurant notebook, specially printed so that it becomes an organized check when a page was ripped out.

"Hello sir, my name is Richard and I will be your waiter this evening. Are you ready to take your order sir?" he smiled warmly at them. Remember, eye-contact but not too much.

"Ah yes, we'll take the beef stroganoff, baked mushroom-stuffed trout, and two toffee crunch caramel cheesecakes for dessert."

Dick quickly scribbled all of the dishes down and repeated the list. "Would you like anything to drink sir? Anything for the ladies?"

"Chardonnay, please; that's all."

He nodded. "While you wait, please take the time to enjoy our appetizers." The small waiter took the menus, smiled, bowed and retreated back to the kitchen to place the order.

The ebony yawned; it was almost 12 A.M., which was closing time for a Sunday. It had been a long day. He planned to study and tomorrow Tim was going to teach him more about being a proper waiter. It was also the end of the week, which means he's getting paid. By the way, they weren't actually going to take _all _of his pay of course, just some. It was up to Dick to decide how much of his earn he was going to give, the important part was that all of it—the uniform along with the shoes—were paid off.

The 13-year-old found that there were no dishes ready to serve and no guests who needed tables. He went back outside to attend to guests who needed attention, asking if they needed anything else, how well the food is, making small talk, taking dirty plates, and filling up cups with their permission.

When Dick glanced back at the entrance where more guests were coming in, he could not believe his eyes.

Bruce-freaking-Wayne has just entered the building.

_End_

_Chapter One: Bruce Wayne_

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**Notes:** The Tim here is going to be the Red Robin Tim, so in your minds imagine that Tim. He's not the YJ!Tim, okay? Should I even put this in as a crossover? Is it possible to change it even though I've already posted it?

I've never (if you call making sandwiches and pouring boiling water for instant noodles cooking, then I lied) cooked, so I know nothing about food. I barely know anything about waiters and how they act too. So I Googled fancy schmancy food and cherry-picked random foods, and searched about waiter etiquette.

I also put the title of the chapter in the end, because it'll pretty much spoil everything if you read it in the beginning. And I just that noticed FF took away my double spaces between each sentence...

Review, so I'll know if anyone likes it (or not).


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